


like a martyr (set ablaze)

by Maust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flashbacks, Kissing, M/M, Motifs, Swearing, Themes/Focuses: fear and fire, brief references to season 8, off-screen sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maust/pseuds/Maust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You love people, and if you are /lucky/, they will burn your bones. If not? You burn theirs. You know why you’re scared, Cas? Know what they call this?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “This is why angels... become human.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a martyr (set ablaze)

**Author's Note:**

> “Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.” –Marianne Williamson 
> 
> Constructive criticism is everything good in the world. Pretty theme-heavy, not gonna lie, and some absolutely /blatant/ fangirling over Mary Winchester. Some discussion of Season 08, which does feature pretty heavily in the plot. 
> 
> Some parts could be considered references to PTSD or traumatic events. If you aren't sure, please ask me or have someone read it for you. Take care of yourself. :)

When Dean was three, one word was the most powerful weapon in the world: leaving.

He remembers how Mom held him by the back of his t-shirt and shoved him behind her, holding her bursting belly against the dresser, pressing his face to the stretch marks in her skin. He remembers the door slamming open, Dad’s scariest face, and the screaming. That magic word: leaving. The melting. The fear. The stumble to cover up the fear, to get aggressive, to fight back. Mom standing her ground, glaring Dean’s dad down. Like a princess, or a dragon, or a martyr.

He remembers being carried, being thrown into a backseat. He remembers a Barney-colored backpack that left lines in his hands.

He remembers a hotel room. A whispered conversation.

A knock at the door. An open-handed plea, and forgiveness.

He remembers seeing his dad cry, seeing his mom cry, seeing them clinging to each other. He remembers how his dad knelt in front of him, called him son, and pulled him inside. He remembers his dad looking at Mom like she was the sun, or gravity, or a black hole, like he couldn’t look for too long or his eyes would sizzle out of his skull.

Dean remembers that John Winchester was always fucking terrified of Mary Winchester, because that’s what love is. Always being half terrified that they’ll leave. That they’ll stay. That they’ll burn. That they’ve got no idea what they’re getting into, that they’re loving someone that doesn’t deserve it. Who never has. That they’ll die for you.

If his parents have taught Dean anything, it’s that love is fear, but they did it anyway.

And they burned.

 

With this in mind, Dean thinks it’s somewhat problematic that he’s fucking terrified of Cas.

Now, there are a lot of things about Cas that have scared the crap out of Dean in the past. He’s been scared of Cas leveling him like a small nuke. He’s been scared of Cas breaking their one chance to lock up the pearly gates forever. And he’s been scared of the day Cas realizes how human Dean Winchester is—the day Cas leaves.

The thing is this: angels aren’t meant to be guardians, or friends. Angels are weapons, and weapons are meant to scare people. In some cases, they’re meant to burn your eyes out for even daring to look at them. For daring to drag them onto your level.

Angels, Dean knows, are meant to watch the world burn.

But Cas isn’t an angel anymore. And now that Cas’s human, Dean’s still terrified of a Cas, but this is a much more immediate fear.

Here’s a hint: Dean’s also afraid of a monkey wrench and a shotgun, because the ex-angel’s busted open the bunker door and leveled both of them at his head. Game on. 

Dean shoves his chair away, scrambling over the words. “Dude, where the hell’ve you-”

Cas slams him into the bunker wall, presses the Kansas PD weapon under his neck, and demands, “Arm.”

“What?” His chin digs into the gun when he speaks, and Cas glares at it in disgust, then gives him the same look, like this is somehow Dean’s fault.

Then he grabs Dean’s wrist and brandishes a knife.

“Whoa, whoa!”

“It’s silver,” Cas snaps, and levels a slice along Dean’s bicep. Dean’s still staring at it in disgust when he gets a jar of holy water in the face, because—still a weapon. Still dangerous. Right. He rubs at his eyes and squints.

“Is that a honey jar?”

Cas pockets the weapons, and doesn’t say anything about bees. “Where is Sam?”

“Zonked.”

Cas starts heading for the stairs behind Dean’s shoulder, but Dean knows that look. They aren’t done here.

“Hold on, hold on! Don’t you think I woulda noticed if my brother’d been demonized?”

Cas’ frown gets dangerous, but he allows Dean’s hands to hold him in place. “The Fallen aren’t demons, Dean. Has Sam been possessed?”

“No!” Cas gives him a look that just oozes skepticism, so Dean ducks his head to hold Cas’ gaze. “You listenin’ to me, Cas? Place’s warded. Iron, salt, even got holy fire from one of Bobby’s old books a few weeks back.” Cas looks run ragged, lines sketching themselves around his eyes and under his nose. Dean takes a wild stab and adds, “You’re good, Cas, okay? _Relax_.”

Cas stares at Dean’s face as he slumps, bending just slightly at the waist. Dean pretends like Cas is letting him hold him, instead of just hold him together. He panics, and blurts the first thing he can think of. “Hey, but man, I gotta ask. What the hell happened to you? You were gonna fix Heaven. Why’s it broken?”

Cas’ eyes start blazing. For a second, Dean wonders if this is how Pamela felt, when she lost her eyes. He can’t—won’t—look away.  “Why did I have to shoot six demons to get to you, Dean? Why didn’t you fix Hell?”

“Sammy would’ve—”

“She _lied_ about _everything,_  Dean. Why would she tell the truth? Why now?”

“Maybe she was scared,” Dean snaps, feeling oddly defensive. “Metatron busts down Heaven, what’s she got? No family, no God, everyone else’s left? There’s no getting back from that. Not when you’re that alone.”

Cas stares at him for a long time, then says, in an odd voice, “You are scared.”

Dean shakes his head and his mouth curls back on itself, a twitchy imitation of a smile. His hands surrender. “That’s what being human is, Cas. You get left behind.”

“Sam did not leave you, Dean.”

He can’t look at Cas’ face. He can’t look, because Cas doesn’t _get_ it yet, does he? “Fuck you, I wasn’t talking about Sam!” He yanks his arms back, disgusted. “How often you gonna leave, Cas? Save Heaven, save the ‘family’ that never gave a crap about you as-”

“They cared about me!”

“-as more than another soldier to die. Huh? Manufactured, every inch of you. How did it feel to hurt, Cas? To die? Did you feel... _anything_ when you left?”

Cas’ face turns bitter and ugly, and Dean gives a small, wry smile as Cas snaps, “Better to feel nothing than to feel everything. You lose your senses to your emotions, Dean. You are weak.”

“Then why’d you run?” Without realizing it, Dean’s suddenly all up in Cas’ personal space, jamming a finger into his chest. “If you weren’t scared, if you weren’t weak... why’d you run?” He looks down at his hand, flat on Cas’ chest. “This thing even working, Cas?”

Cas holds Dean’s hand to his chest, but it doesn’t feel like an admission. It feels like Cas’s a live grenade, and Dean’s got his finger on the pin. “You. Should. Be _very_... afraid. Of me.” He stares at Dean like he’s seeing his skeleton, his broken bones. “I would have done it. Do you understand that? I would have given it to you if you had asked for my trust. Anything, had you asked just one more time. And you... you are only a man." He shakes his head. "It would have burned you from the inside out.”

“You ever played with fire, Cas?” Dean can feel a heartbeat, if he presses hard enough. “You understand what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that you should cloak yourself in fear and use it as a weapon, just as you always do.” It’s defeated, raw... and bitterly, wrenchingly honest.

A laugh claws the back of Dean’s throat, and he swallows it back. “You been in my head, Cas? I’m afraid of… a helluvalot of crap. Because being human? It sucks, more than anything. And you are gonna get burned more times than you can count. We burned in Hell, man. Remember that? Remember my mom? You love people, and if you are _lucky_ , they will burn your bones. If not? You burn theirs. You know why you’re scared, Cas? Know what they call this?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “This is why angels... become human.”

Cas’ hands clench around his fingers, then his throat, and every touch feels like an open flame. Dean burns. His mouth feels the hottest, like he’s swallowed a firework, like the blaze in Cas is taking up all the oxygen. He kisses back blindly, yanking his hands to the back of Cas’ neck, the knob of his spine, the curve of his skull, trying to dig himself so deep Cas can’t ever get him out.

It’s fire, and he walks towards it. It remakes him.

 

Afterwards, Cas burns. He’s a spark instead of an inferno, but he’s burning just the same.

Dean holds on anyway, to any piece of skin he can get his hands on. He probably should have been afraid of fire, he thinks idly. Probably wasn’t supposed to use it as a weapon, or twist it into his skin.

Cas speaks, a voice in the darkness. “I do not think that I am afraid of you, Dean.”

Dean snorts, and his voice is ragged as he whispers, “Feeling’s mutual.”

Someone takes a breath, and someone burns.

Dean closes his eyes, stifles a yawn, and pulls Cas closer, breathing through the fire.


End file.
